She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. ” Sir John coughed. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. ’ Reminiscence made him smile. “This is not a matter altogether for levity, Anna,” she said. And now I break the seals—for you. Drummond patted him on the shoulder. The soi-disant Valade held the centre of the room now, only an uncovered but closed card-table, its surface dusty, between him and the suite at the fireplace.
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